


In your soul they poked a million holes

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fallen Angels, Gen, Hurt Gabriel, M/M, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Sick Sam Winchester, Wing Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel felt it the second his brothers and sisters Fell.<br/>(Title from "How It Ends" by DeVotchKa)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The story itself

Gabriel felt it the second his brothers and sisters Fell. Felt Heaven close up and felt them crash to earth. Heard their screams—

Until his larger pair of wings forced themselves into reality and burst into flame, drowning out all sensations.

They burned away with the stench of ozone, singed hair, and petrichor. Gabe dropped to the chill concrete floor of his hideaway, screaming and clawing at his back. And then it stopped. He pulled in a ragged breath. Splayed his fingers over the floor, and pressed his forehead against it. He drew in several shallow gasps, and whimpered, and slumped to his side. He could _feel_ his lower wings—a significantly smaller manifestation of his Grace—in a more physical way than he ever remembered. He heard their whisper, and reached behind him, and felt them at his lower back, poking out from his now-shredded t-shirt. He pulled and his fingers dragged a clump of bedraggled feathers. More came away in his hands as he twisted and prodded at the wings.

"What the fuck is going on..." Gabriel closed his eyes and pressed bloodied palms to his face. The secondary wings hurt, and drooped limp against the ground. He focused hard on reaching out his awareness, past his wings and past his own thoughts, trying to contact someone for help—maybe Castiel, though they had not necessarily parted on good terms.

Nothing.

Emptiness.

He expanded his consciousness and met with more of the same.

Radio silence.

"Oh, God..." Gabriel opened his eyes. They glistened in the dark. His voice escaped tiny and weak and hoarse. " _No_."

The smaller wings smoldered and sparked. Didn't begin to flame as the first had, but rather started up a slow burn like the embers of a campfire, glowing red from inside and sending off little bright snaps of heat that died out against the cement.

Gabriel spent the next hour muffling his shouts in his sleeve, writhing on the concrete floor, clawing at it, as the final portions of his Grace and Being withered and smoked away.

He passed out eventually, with torn nails and bleeding fingers and tears streaking his face.

He woke sprawled on his stomach. Dried blood clung to his fingertips and palms. Salt tracks lined his cheeks. He sat, wincing, and ash sluiced from his back. He was sore, and tired, and dehydrated. He shucked out of his jacket—ruined now—and portions crumbled away into black dust at his fingertips. He'd either need to patch it or buy a new one. He threw it aside. With a heavy shuddering inhale he reached behind himself and slid one hand up under his shirt. They met with smooth scars. His breath stalled in his chest. He tore his shirt off—it, too, sustained damage, but not as much as his jacket—and twisted around to look at himself. He could make out the top of a shiny patch of skin. He swore.

Gabriel lurched upright, unsteady on his feet, and stumbled to the bathroom, flicking on the lights before turning his back to the mirror and looking over his shoulder. Big slashes of raised skin trailed down his back from the top of his shoulder blades to just below, and then again lower down on his back—one for each wing to make a total of four scars. He closed his eyes and raised his face to the bathroom light, bright and harsh and flickering. He sighed, and turned to look himself in the eye.

"I look like shit."

He groaned and turned on the faucet with a wrench of the knob. He twisted so he could shove his face into the cold stream of water, drank some, and finally pulled back with a gasp when he found he needed air. He swore. Clenched the edge of the counter until his knuckles went white. Jammed a hand into his pocket to pull the packet of cigarettes he'd taken to carrying out of his pocket, and slid one into his hand. He held it to his mouth and snapped his finger and nothing happened.

"Oh, _fuck_ me." Gabriel rummaged around in his pocket, hoping to find a lighter. Nothing, of course. He clenched the cigarette between his teeth, trying not to think of his sudden lack of powers, and stormed back into the main room, checking everywhere he could think of for a match or something. No luck. He took a deep, steadying breath in the middle of the room, and finally headed for the stairs. He stomped his way up and banged the door open, flooding the basement briefly with bright, yellowish light. He paused in the hallway, then shouted, "Do any of you losers have a light?!"

Something upstairs thudded, and one of the many young adults living in the house-turned-apartments nearly fell down the stairs with a lighter in hand. She shook her tangled orange hair—she always reminded him of Leeloo, from _The Fifth Element_ , a bit—out of her eyes with a grin and tossed the lighter at him. "Here ya go!"

He smiled at her. "Thanks... uh...?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Ariadne." She bit her lip, smiled dropping. "Um..." She crossed her arms. "Are you alright, dude?"

Gabriel's jaw tightened, and he looked down at his bloodied hands and bare chest. He swore under his breath. "I'm not on meth, I swear." He gave her a grimace and wink. "I uh... knocked over my bookshelf. Metal edges. You know how it goes." He held the lighter up—cheap green plastic—and flicked at the wheel until it snapped to life, and lit his cigarette. He tossed her lighter back, smiled tightly, waved, and disappeared back into his basement room. The smoke made him cough for the first time in the years he'd been smoking, and he frowned.

He sat on his bed smoking until the cigarette crumbled to practically nothing between his fingers, and spent a long time periodically snapping his fingers and hoping for something—anything. In the end he only managed to shatter his light bulb, plunging his room into darkness but for the narrow slit of light through the small rectangular window by the ceiling.

He grumbled to himself, and decided he'd go to bed.

The first time he'd used his bed for sleep that'd probably prove to be necessary—sure he'd slept before but that was usually just for fun, to relax, and usually he stayed up constantly watching TV and amusing himself. The bed got used for sleep maybe once a month or two, and a little more often for a different brand of "sleeping." It was strange to lay back in his underwear knowing that he'd probably actually be completely dead to the world for the next four to twelve hours.

It took him three hours to fall asleep. He kept remembering things—He didn't own a toothbrush. Or food other than several large bags of candy. He would almost fall asleep, then jerk awake with the feeling of falling, and stare up at the ceiling breathing heavily. Or his arm would fall asleep. Or he'd suddenly need to pee and boy figuring out how to pee in the middle of the night with an ache in his  back was not what he called a fun time.

...

He woke in the morning to the sunrise, feeling even worse. His eyes were gummy and the scars felt tight and uncomfortable and his lips were stuck together and his ear felt hot where he'd pressed it against his pillow and his neck ached and so did his hip. His arm tingled. He let out a moan and opened his mouth with some level of difficulty. He ran his tongue over his lips and tasted blood.

He also really had to pee again. But he was super thirsty. It made no sense to him.

He drank from the faucet, used the toilet, showered—and finding the perfect temperature was an adventure he failed miserably at—and wished desperately for the ability to dry and dress himself with a snap. He almost got stuck in his t-shirt, and tripped pulling on his jeans. He pinched himself on his zipper as well. Upon going for his shoes, he realized he had no idea how to tie them.

He groaned. "Gotta be fucking kidding me." He pressed his face into his hands with a sigh. His hair dripped water down his neck and gave him goosebumps, which was a weirdly pleasant yet awful sensation. "I can't tie my own shoes. I feel like a child." His stomach growled at him, and he grimaced at the empty sensation. He gnawed at his cracked lip, and rummaged through his disorganized belongings until he came up with a candy bar, hoping it would tide him over until he could get to a café or a McDonald's or something.

The taste of chocolate hit him as more vibrant and sweeter than usual. Not unpleasant, but different. He ate his candy slowly, after finding a pair of loafers that required no laces, and made sure to grab the keys he'd never needed until then, before making his way out of the house. He bumped into Ariadne and her girlfriend on the way out, and shot her a polite smile. The expression tugged on the cut in his lip and he licked at it absently with a small grimace. She grinned at him.

The air outside smelled of car exhaust and cat piss and freshly mown grass. Gabe wrinkled his nose, and began to walk toward his favorite place to eat—the diner five blocks away. Once settled comfortably on a cracked vinyl stool, he grinned at the waiter. His lip bled. The waiter handed him the menu with a concerned look.

"Gabe—you okay?" His mouth—very cute and pink—quirked. "No offense, but you look like shit."

Gabriel snorted. "Rough night." He cleared his throat, subtly checking the man's nametag and feeling guilty he'd forgotten his name. "Soooo... Andre... What do you recommend today?" Gabriel plastered on his most charming, flirtatious smile.

Andre raised his (perfect) eyebrows, and tapped his jaw with a soft hum. "Well, I just made some juice, so... The apple carrot juice and a potato scramble sound good?" He slid the menu away from Gabriel. Gabe made a show of thinking before he shrugged and said,

"Hell, why not. Sounds good to me."

Andre smiled.

(It was a nice smile, but Gabriel didn't feel as drawn to it as he had the month before.)

Gabe ate his breakfast rather faster than he would have liked and nearly choked on his juice, but enjoyed it nonetheless. He felt warm and sated and much less irritable than when he'd woken up. Andre asked if he was free and Gabriel blanched. He really didn't feel nearly as confident without his powers.

"I uh... I'm..." Gabriel shrugged. "...busy?"

Andre's face fell and Gabriel bit his lip.

"Sorry." Gabriel shrugged, apologetic, and left.  He hit himself with the door on the way out and swore. Walking down the street, keeping a wary eye on any cars that seemed to move too fast, he ran his hand through his hair and realized that if he had become human he'd need to start getting it cut. His hand moved to his jaw and the stubble forming. He'd also need to learn how to shave. And wouldn't that be fun? He couldn't ask some twenty year old guy to teach him how to shave, but he doubted he'd do well on his own. But... the internet existed for a reason. Porn and tutorials.

He stopped at the store on his way home and bought razors and a toothbrush and toothpaste and some basic food supplies and some more clothes, and was relieved to see he still had enough cash in his wallet to last him a while. When he got home, he set about figuring out how to shave and did relatively alright but for a few nicks.

Learning to use the washer and dryer was another story entirely.

By the end of the night he was exhausted. Aching and unhappy and hungry. He missed his dog—who knew what had happened to the poor thing when he'd "died." He sincerely hoped she'd been found by a tenant or the manager in his old building.

He fell asleep a little quicker that night.

...

Gabriel sat in the yard smoking, distanced from the little cluster of a few other tenants who spoke raucously and lewdly. He rubbed his face, letting the smoke distract him from the weight of his cell phone in his hand. Eventually, though, he had to look at it. He ground the cigarette out against the damp dirt and slid his phone open. It glowed at him. Three phone numbers, which he'd obtained illegally and never had the need to use. Dean Winchester, Castiel, and Sam Winchester. Listed as "Ken," "Baby Bro," and "Bigfoot." He hit _call_ and held the phone to his ear.

He got Sam's answering machine. "Dammit." He really did not fancy calling Dean Winchester and trying to explain to him that he'd been in hiding for the past four or so years, and that he'd lost all his powers and needed some hunter-style help. He tried Cas. His answering machine was more amusing but no less frustrating. Finally, Dean.

"Who's calling and how the hell do you have this number?" Dean's voice came out of the speakers too loud and scratchy and tired. Gabriel closed his eyes and turned his face into the light drizzle.

"Hey, Deano!" He affected his most cheerful, sarcastic tone. "In a bit of a bind! D'you think you could help a bro out?"

Silence.

Then.

"What the _fuck_!" Something clattered on the other end of the phone. Gabriel thought he heard the younger Winchester's voice but perhaps not. Finally Dean managed, "You _died_!"

Gabriel groaned. "Jesus Christ, Winchester." He threw himself down to lay on the grass and immediately regretted it as a pang went up his back. He sat back up, and drew his knees to his chest. "I posed as Loki for millennia. You think I can't fake my own death more than once?" He scoffed. "Anyway, seriously." He dropped the light tone. "I burst into flame and lost my powers two nights ago. Felt all of my siblings Fall. You know anything about that, maybe?"

Dean swore softly. His voice softened. Not in a considerate way, just in an unhappy way. "Metatron."

" _What_?" Gabriel's spine stiffened. "What did that yellow-bellied rat _do_?"

He received more static. Some rustling and an awkward cough. "I'm not really sure." Long pause. "Cas won't talk."

"Won't... talk? Won't talk about _Falling_ , or won't talk at all?" Gabriel frowned.

Dean cleared his throat. "Listen man, I gotta go check on Sam. Can you just..." He grumbled.

"I'm in Salem, Oregon." Gabriel coughed into his elbow, throat scratchy from smoke and a restless night. He scratched at his chin. "Can you, maybe, find the time to help me out? You kind of owe me." He toed at the damp grass.

Dean snorted in disbelief. "Owe you for what? Torturing Sammy?"

"I risked my life for your sorry asses, gave you information on the Horsemen, and then had to go into hiding because if I so much as sneezed I had the chance of being found and killed for real. Not to mention, every angel seems to have Fallen, and I have a feeling it's somehow your fault." Gabriel picked at the hem of his shirt. "So you can go screw yourself, Winchester. Pick me up in three days." He slid his phone shut before Dean could say a word, and shoved it into his back pocket. Pressed his forehead against his knees with a groan. He pulled another cigarette from his pocket—new jacket, almost identical to the old one—but didn't light it. Just sat with it hanging from his mouth. It'd do him well to cut back on smoking now that he had the propensity for addiction, anyhow. Didn't want to get lung cancer right after becoming human. He played with his lighter—shiny, new and cheap—for a while, with the damp seeping through the seat of his pants, until he finally decided to go inside just after the sunset.

...

"Wow, you look like a real winner. Thanks for forgetting to give me your address, by the way."

Gabriel looked up from the front steps, his single suitcase beside him, and blew a cloud of smoke from his mouth. He smirked. "What, tracking someone by their phone number too hard for you?" He stood and cracked his back. "Singer too busy to do it?"

Dean stiffened. He looked Gabe over with a cold glare and tight lips. "Bobby died over a year ago. Douche." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So what, do you live with a bunch of hobos?"

Gabriel laughed. He flicked a little clump of ashes to the ground, and raised an eyebrow. "Now Dean, be nice. These college students—" He gestured to the ever-present group of four young adults smoking pot in the driveway. "—may look homeless, but their parents are abso-fucking-lutely _loaded_." He grinned broad. "One time some kid's closeted dad handed me a wad of cash because I was cute or something." He grabbed his suitcase. "Used it to pay my rent."

"You pay _rent_?" Dean scoffed, and turned back toward his car. "Color me surprised."

Gabriel kicked a pebble at him. "Can it, Ken Doll." He threw his suitcase through the lowered back window of the Impala and wrenched the front passenger door open.

"Hey, hey, hey! Stop." Dean glared at Gabriel. Gabe frowned. Dean rolled his eyes. "Lose the cigarette. No one smokes in my Baby." He raised his eyebrows and waved his arm emphatically to indicate throwing something.

Gabe grumbled, but he threw his cigarette into the street, with a puff of smoke from between his lips, and slid into the car. "Prude."

Dean faked a laugh before his forced smile dropped abruptly. "Shut up."

The car purred when he started it, and Gabriel realized how much he'd missed indulging in fine cars and expensive champagne and conjured strippers—not that he hadn't indulged in the past few years. He'd been made to cut back a lot though. Never bothered to buy a car, let alone a nice one. Stuck to whiskey and beer. One-night stands after a night at the bar. The Impala brought back memories of how it felt to sit in a golden Ferrari with a beautiful woman beside him feeding him gilded chocolate profiteroles, with the radio blasting Queen and the road stretching out before him.

Now all he had was a crushed pack of cigarettes and a hitched ride in the oily interior of a 1967 Chevy Impala with demon blood stains in the back and the ever-present stench of salt and leather. He rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes and sighed.

Unsurprisingly, Dean sped.

Surprisingly, this made Gabriel's gut twist unpleasantly.

Dean made fun of him the second he mentioned it, so Gabriel kept his mouth shut for most of the car ride, unless it was to take a jab at Dean's taste in music. Dean returned his silence other than the occasional muttered insult.

Gabriel discovered that he liked to watch the scenery roll by.

They stopped in southeast Idaho so Gabriel could pee, and buy a bottle of soda, and so Dean could stretch his legs. The weather had gone foul, and lightning flickered in the distance. Gabriel turned his face into the breeze, standing on the sidewalk. A small dog yipped from its leash, where its owner walked it through the grass. He half-smiled and chewed on his unlit cigarette.

"Hey. So, you Fell. You're gonna need protection from possession." Dean shrugged awkwardly at him. Sort of grinned, and tugged on the collar of his jacket so it lay straighter. Gabriel wondered what had happened to his old leather jacket but didn't bother to ask—probably got stolen or torn to shreds or doused in blood.

Gabriel snorted. "Yeah?" He shook his head. "You know, I actually got one of those a long time ago."

"What? Why?" Dean frowned.

Gabriel smirked. He plucked his cigarette from his mouth and hurled it as far as he could. It landed in some scraggly yellow bushes. "Because I could." He hunched his shoulders into the growing wind and wiggled his eyebrows, hands slipping into his jacket pockets. "Because why the hell not?"

"Show me." Dean stared him down.

Gabe laughed. "No can do, Deano." He grinned wide and unhappy and mischievous. Before Dean protested, he raised his hand and said, "I'd have to take off my pants, and as much as I love walking around in my birthday suit, I'm pretty sure public nudity is generally frowned upon. Even in rest stops in Idaho."

Dean spluttered, and Gabriel snickered.

They drove without stopping the rest of the way to Lebanon, Kansas.


	2. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit more of the story. I wrote it and slapped a quick shitty end onto it and then decided I liked the story just as the first few chunks.  
> But I thought I'd put this up anyhow so you could know about it?

Gabriel had no clue what time they got to the impressive cement bunker, only that clouds covered the sky and he smelled like sweat. He just wanted to lay down somewhere and pass out for six hours. He stumbled behind Dean, ignoring Castiel sitting shocked and pale in the half-darkness, and eventually found himself led by Dean to a suitable enough place to sleep—a ratty bed in a dusty, windowless room. He ignored the lack of sheets and shucked out of his clothes to Dean's squawking protests, and threw himself into the bed.

He woke up to utter blackness and the sound of violent hacking and Dean speaking softly. He frowned, and slipped out of the cell-like room. Tiptoed down the hall, until he spotted a soft yellow light and a barely open door. He peeked in—saw Sam Winchester crumpled on the floor, supported by his big brother, coughing and breathing hard. Droplets of blood spotted the floor. His hands hung limp beside his knees. His hair was tangled and his face was drawn. His eyes, ringed with tired bruises, flicked up glassy and red and caught Gabe's gaze. Gabriel's breath caught in his chest.

Dean looked up, face hard.

Gabriel swallowed anything he'd been about to say, and merely pushed the door further open before walking forward and dropping to his knees in front of the Winchesters. They stared at each other, and eventually all Gabriel did was whisper, "I'm so sorry, Sam."

Sam smiled weakly at him. "Me too." His voice came out hoarse and quiet.

Gabriel hid his tears until he'd returned to the cold bedroom down the hall.

He always forgot how much it hurt to see a strong man brought down.

...

Gabriel and Dean stood outside of the HQ in the early morning air, watching the sun rise. Gabriel took a deep drag from his cigarette and coughed. He scuffed his shoe against the gravel. Looked at Dean. "What's wrong with him?" He tossed his cigarette down and ground it beneath his heel with a set jaw.

Dean grimaced. "Healing, we hope." He laughed, bitter. "Hard to tell, obviously." He kicked up some gravel and stomped over to the Impala with hunched shoulders, and leaned his elbows on her roof, running a hand through his hair. "Fuckin' sucks, man. 'M afraid he'll die if I leave him alone for too long and I can't deal with that."

"Why is he sick?" Gabriel was nothing if not irritatingly persistent.

Dean shot him a glare over his shoulder, and kicked a tire. "Trials." He flexed his fingers. "We were gonna shut down Hell. Turns out that woulda killed Sammy so I stopped him, and he _is_ getting better than he was before but..." He closed his eyes. "Headaches, vertigo, coughing up blood—for _Christ's_ _sake_ it's like he's disappearing. I just—I hate it." He thumped his hand against the car's side. "He never deserved this shitty life."

"Yeah, well." Gabriel turned his face to the clear sky and wished for rain. "Fate's a bitch."

Dean laughed and it went through Gabriel's spine like ice water.

...

"So! Looks like we've got Jesus, Mary, Ariel, the Grinch and the little Prophet who could." Gabriel smirked, flicking his lighter over and over. Sam shot him half of a smile, but Dean just glared. Castiel continued to stare silently at the floor with an infuriating air of guilt and depression, Kevin rubbed his eyes with a long sigh, and Crowley grumbled something under his breath. Gabriel beamed at them. "You guys got no sense of humor."

Dean flipped him off.

Sam shrugged—the blanket around his shoulders rustled—and sipped from a tall glass of water. He watched Gabriel unblinkingly for several seconds, until Dean cleared his throat. He shot Dean a look, then smiled at Gabriel. Gabe glanced to either side before pointing to himself questioningly. He raised an eyebrow.

Sam rolled his eyes and pursed his lips and Gabriel almost laughed at how wonderfully familiar the expression was. Sam nodded. "You're alive. How?"

Gabriel did laugh, then. Leave it to Sam Winchester to be insatiably geeky even while horrifyingly ill. Gabe swept a hand back through his hair, and shook his head. "It's simple, kiddo. I faked my death. Done it hundreds of times before. Luci may have thought I learned all my tricks from him, but I learned so much more in the world of Pagan gods." He winked. "Not just how to cheat death, either."

Sam snorted. Dean rolled his eyes with a groan.

"Really, though." Gabriel's expression softened. "I know a thing or two about running away."

Sam looked down at the table, tapping his finger on the sleek wood. Across from him, Crowley flipped through a dusty old book and scowled at them all. Kevin had stuck his face into his arms folded on the tabletop.

The conversation dwindled out.

...

"You know, smoking's bad for you." Sam shivered in the slight chill of the night, leaning against the Impala. Gabriel turned to face him, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah?" He blew a cloud of smoke from his mouth. (Away from Sam, though. He may have been a dick, but he was not the kind of dick who blew tobacco fumes into the face of someone recovering from illness.) His lips quirked into a bitter half-smile. "Well, I've never really been one for avoiding vices." He kicked at the gravel under his boots—finally able to tie a pair of laces. He looked up at the sky, and haze obscured most of the stars, but he saw glimmers of the brightest ones here and there and sighed. Not so very long since Falling, and he already sorely missed the days when he could—if he so desired—fly to a star and walk its seething surfaces with ease, or stroll the rings of Neptune, or bounce between Pluto's moons. He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of cigarettes and car exhaust and wet asphalt and growing plants.

Sam remained silent.

Green toads creaked out from the shaded, damp trees. Fireflies winked out from the leaves as well. Gabriel wondered if there was a pond in that direction. He'd have to explore later. For that moment, he focused on finishing his cigarette and ignoring Sam's somewhat labored breaths.

"What did we do to deserve this? That's what I wanna know." Gabe flicked his spent cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his heel with more venom than necessary. Lifted his eyes to look at Sam. Sam stared at him, arms crossed tight over his chest with goosebumps all up and down. His tongue peeked out from his mouth. He broke eye contact, and shrugged, awkward and worn-down and seeming so much smaller than Gabriel remembered.

"Good question." Sam's voice drifted out just loud enough to be heard over the toads. "No clue."

Gabriel laughed harsh and too loud. "Life is such a crock of shit."

"Could be worse." Sam's shoulders hunched up. He coughed.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "Whatever you say, kiddo."

...

Castiel's eyes remained unwavering—the color of a stormy ocean and much sharper. His shirt pulled too tight at his armpits but hung loose around his narrow wrists, too small. He tugged at the edge of one sleeve. Dean glanced away, at the bookshelves to his right, then back. Let himself blink.

"Cas."

Castiel's lips twitched, but he only squinted.

Dean pressed his hand to his face with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes and over his mouth. Stared at Cas between his fingertips. "C'mon, Cas, buddy." He smiled, sad and soft. "Talk to me."

Cas opened his mouth. Dean's stomach twisted, hopeful, but Cas closed it again and shook his head. His eyes pulled away from Dean's and fixed on the corner of the table they sat at. Dean let out a breath, and ran a hand through his hair, looking away.

"Okay, Cas. Okay."

...

"I can't believe you."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Oh, _fuck_ you." He jammed the now-empty egg carton into the trash and turned his back on Crowley to focus on making breakfast. Just some simple scrambled eggs. Easy. Just a _few_ bits of shell. The ancient burner glowed beneath the pan and he watched little bubbles pop up in the viscous yellow liquid. Smelled a little like fire.

Crowley crossed his arms. He leaned against the blindingly white refrigerator, hooking one foot in front of the other, and raised an eyebrow. "What? I'm just stating my disbelief at an Archangel cooking for a moose. And doing a poor job of it." He smirked.

Gabriel threw an exasperated look over his shoulder, accompanied by a raised middle finger. He poked at the eggs with his spatula. Crowley clicked his tongue.

"Who knew God's Messenger was so rude?" He chuckled. "Though I suppose you haven't been _that_ for quite some time, hmm? Loki."

Gabriel slammed his spatula down on the counter and turned to face Crowley with thunder in his eyes. "Look." His chin jutted out. "You may be two inches taller than me and a giant prick, but I really would appreciate you getting out of my space." Both his eyebrows shot up. "'Kay?"

Crowley scoffed. "Oh _dear_. Was it something I said?" He drew away from the refrigerator and before Gabriel retorted, said, "Your eggs are burning. Ta." He gave a little wave and left the kitchen with a certain spring in his step. Gabriel cursed and whirled to drag Sam's breakfast off the heat. It smoldered at the edges, and he couldn’t help but feel taunted. Delightful. Blackened edges, still squishy middle, much too brown bottom. (High heat—not the way to go.) The smell was horrendous. He grabbed the handle and dumped the entire pan unceremoniously into the trash, not caring that bits of the bag melted onto the metal, and clicked the burner off before storming away. He half-hoped the smoke would set off the sprinklers.

He sat on his bed, dusty memory foam providing him little comfort, and stared at the wall for something like five minutes straight until he finally threw himself facedown with his arms outspread, and sulked into his pillow. Despite his diminished powers, his foul mood managed to make the lights flicker. He peeked out, somewhat mollified, and willed them to flicker again.

His only light bulb shattered in a flash of light at the same time a soft knock came from the door. Gabriel groaned.

"Come in!"

A sliver of yellow light sliced into the darkness and silhouetted Sam's shape in the doorway. He reached for the switch, and when the lights didn't come on he sighed, exuding a put-upon air like no one else, and left the door wide so he could see.

"Really, Gabriel? Again?"

Gabe rolled onto his back with a grunt. "It was an accident." He waved expansively. "I swear."

"This is the third time." Sam sounded scolding, but from what Gabriel could see of his face he was smiling when he sat on the edge of Gabe's bed. Gabriel sat up and crossed his legs. Sam turned his head and his eyes glinted in the shadows. "What's wrong?"

Gabriel's jaw tightened and he gave a tight shrug. "'S stupid." He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. "Just being an idiot."

"The eggs?" Sam shifted so he face Gabriel more fully.

Gabriel snorted. "You saw." He reached out a hand to prod at his toes, wiggling them. "Told you it was stupid. I just lost my temper is all." He licked his lips. Stayed silent for a long time—and Sam waited for him to get around to speaking. "Heard eggs are good when you're sick. Protein and stuff." He shrugged.

Light edged Sam's profile and Gabriel liked that he couldn't really see Sam's expression.

Sam shifted. "Gabriel."

Gabriel scowled. "Just thought it would be a nice gesture."

Sam laughed quietly. "It is." He moved closer, just a bit, and reached his hand out to settle it on Gabriel's knee. "Thanks for the thought, even if it didn't turn out well. I probably still would've eaten them." Gabe thought he saw the edges of his mouth turn up but maybe that was wishful thinking. He shrugged yet again, and gave Sam a tight smile.

"They were pretty bad."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Well." He squeezed Gabe's knee before standing up—reaching for the edge of the bedframe when he wobbled slightly—and headed back to the open door. He stuck one hand in his pocket. "I'll see if Dean has another spare bulb lying around." And with that he disappeared into the hallway, leaving Gabriel seated on his bed in a dim rectangle of light. Gabriel tilted his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

"Shit."

...

Kevin and Crowley stood just outside the main entrance to the HQ arguing. Unsurprisingly. Gabriel glowered in their direction and slotted a pair of headphones over his ears, to drown them out with music while he dawdled on the internet. (And how the hell they got Wi-Fi in a concrete bunker, he'd never understand.) The internet proved mainly irritating, full of people fighting over stupid things back and forth— _aliens or Armageddon?! Is sasquatch even feasible?! Of course a man couldn't fall from the sky and survive, this isn't_ Thor _!_ He closed out of the internet rather forcibly and leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes and let The Cure sing him into a daze.

Halfway through some song Gabriel couldn't be bothered to learn the name of, a bang startled him into reality and his eyes snapped open. Dean glowered down at him, hands planted on the table, mouth set in a fierce line. Gabriel glanced to either side, and raised his eyebrow. He slid the headphones off. "Can I _help_ you?" He shut Sam's laptop carefully.

Dean grimaced. "Sam's asking for you." He rolled his eyes. "Something about needing help moving stuff he doesn't trust me with. Bedroom." His body language exuded anger. Chances are, he and Castiel had disagreed on something. Maybe the cause of Cas' status as a shut-in earlier that morning. (Now, though, he sat at a long table with books spread around him, not really reading any of them in particular but copying down phrases from their dry pages.)

Gabriel let out a low laugh. "Delightful." He stood, ignoring the harsh sound of the still ongoing argument, and ruffled Castiel's hair on the way from the library toward the bedrooms. Sam's door stood ajar at the end of the hall, and Gabriel knocked on the doorframe before entering. He shut the door behind him, quiet. Sam sat on his bed with his head in his hands, elbows planted on his thighs, back hunched and tense. His head turned slightly toward Gabe.

"Hey."

Gabriel frowned. "You okay?" He ventured closer. "Dean said something about moving things...?"

Sam laughed, then coughed. "I lied to him. Didn't wanna make him worry like he always does." He shrugged and drew his hands away from his face. He frowned. Rubbed at his eyes. "Sorry for bothering you." He pulled himself further up his bed and lay down on his back, and threw one arm across his face to block the light. Gabriel's mouth twisted. He switched the light off, and made his way by touch alone to Sam's bed so he could flick the lamp on and bathe the room in a more diffuse glow. He sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Don't apologize." Gabriel's voice sounded quieter than he meant it to. He made an aborted attempt to touch Sam's shoulder, but pulled his hand back at the very last second. Folded his hands in his lap. Smiled down at Sam. Sam, of course, didn't see because his arm still rested across his eyes. They sat in relative silence for a while.

Eventually Sam pulled his arm away from his face and sighed. Quirked his mouth at Gabe. "You know something?" He shifted to lay partially on his side, to face Gabriel easier.

"What?" Gabe raised an eyebrow, leaning back against Sam's headboard.

Sam smiled. "You're not as much of a jerk as you try to make people think."

"Gee, thanks." Gabriel rolled his eyes. He grinned at Sam, though, and nudged him with his leg. "You're not so bad yourself, shortstack." He winked.

Sam laughed, which turned into a mild fit of coughing. He reached out to shove Gabe's shoulder. Gabriel flinched away from him with a not-so-serious glare, and stuck his tongue out. He elbowed Sam until the taller man moved back a little bit, and lay down on his back beside him, throwing his arms behind his head for added support. He crossed his ankles. Sam's forehead crinkled. Gabriel turned his head a bit and smirked, with a brief wiggle of one eyebrow. Sam shook his head.

"You're ridiculous." He tapped on finger against Gabriel's temple.

Gabe beamed. "But you feel better now, right?" Another eyebrow waggle.

"...Yeah." Sam smiled. "Yeah, my headaches always seem better with you around." He brushed some stray hairs from his eyes. "Maybe some remnant of your uh... angelness." He snorted.

Gabriel laughed. "'Angelness,' Samsquatch? Really?"

"Angelicism?"

They both snickered. Fell silent again. Eventually, Gabriel turned to fully face Sam.

"You sure you're doin' better, Sam?" He avoided Sam's eyes. "You look tired."

Sam sighed, heavily. His expression softened, but not in a particularly pleasant way. Just... resigned. He half-smiled, half-grimaced. "Hard to sleep when I've got raging migraines and coughing fits and bad dreams. Gets worse at night, you know?" His tongue flickered out to wet his lips. He closed his eyes. "But it's better than it used to be." He sighed. Slid his hand over to grip Gabriel's, for reassurance or out of gratitude or what, Gabe didn't know. He just squeezed Sam's hand in return.

They stayed like that, and Sam fell asleep after a bit. Gabriel decided not to move, unwilling to wake Sam after he'd finally gotten settled into a rhythm of slow breaths and slack face. He chose to remain beside him, watching his mostly peaceful expression, feeling his pulse through his palm. Gabriel wasn't much of the praying type, but he prayed just a bit for an uninterrupted rest. He'd heard Sam wake in the early hours of the morning—shouting and terrified from nightmares—more than often enough. Hated it. Hated seeing Sam Winchester so panicked and drawn.

But of course, the peaceful sleep only lasted so long before Sam began to twitch, and his pulse heightened and his breathing sped up. Now and again he whimpered, almost inaudible. Gabriel pulled him closer, in the dim glow of the lamp, and wrapped his arms tight and secure around him. Sam's breaths caught, and then steadied again, though his heartbeat still hammered and he continued to tremble and murmur in his unconscious state. Gabriel rubbed a hand up and down his spine, and mumbled meaningless words against Sam's temple. Calming words, in Enochian and English and Korean and Hebrew, and whatever other languages made their way in. Sam relaxed into his embrace, and quieted. Gabe preened. He'd collected Sam from his night terrors and set him secure and pliant. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little proud of himself.

After at least forty minutes, tangled in Sam's arms now, Gabriel too fell asleep.

...

"Oh, shut your cakehole." Gabriel tapped his pencil against the newspaper.

Dean snickered. "You two were snuggling." He crossed his arms. " _Cuddling_." He ignored the bitchy expression Sam shot him and gave Gabriel a gleeful grin.

Gabe rolled his eyes. "We both fell asleep." He raised his eyebrows. "We're both people who like physical affection. It's a thing that happens, Deano." He shook his head and filled in a row on his crossword.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean leaned back in his chair, and grinned at Cas standing on the other side of the room reading. Cas' lips twitched in what might have been called a smile. Dean returned his attention to Gabriel. "Keep telling yourself that, man. Still totally gay."

Gabe pulled a face. "As if I give a shit." He glowered down at the newspaper as if it personally offended him, then shoved it in Sam's direction with a grumble. Sam took it with enthusiasm. Gabriel turned his strange-colored eyes on Dean. "Whether or not something is gay is the _least_ of my concerns. Especially considering the people I have done."

Dean blanched. "What?"

Gabe smirked, and propped his feet up on the chair beside his. "Think about who you're talking to! I've had more one-night stands than I care to count, and they were definitely _not_ all women." He leered. "Plenty weren't even human."

Dean frowned. "TMI, man." He glared at the tabletop.

Ignoring Dean's statement, Gabriel continued. "Anyhow, who _wouldn't_ be all over Sammich here?" He eyed Sam appreciatively, and Sam rolled his eyes (but blushed) and pursed his lips. Gabriel winked at him.

Dean glared.

...

"Dude, what the fuck is this?" Dean grimaced at the radio, and prodded at a few buttons. All he received was an offended spurt of static and the muffled lyrics from the speakers,

_The season rubs me wrong_   
_The summer swells anon_   
_So knock me down, tear me up_   
_But I would bear it all broken just to fill my cup_   
_Down by the water and down by the old main drag._

Gabriel winked at him in the rearview mirror. "The Decemberists." He crossed his arms, and tapped his foot against the back of the bench seat. His mouth quirked, and he leaned forward. Tapped Dean's shoulder. "I'm in the mood for something other than a constant stream of AC/DC, and I have just enough juice to make sure I get what I want."

Dean shot him a glare in the mirror. "Since when do you listen to weird indie crap?" He pulled out onto the road, arm slung along the seat behind him, hand resting just behind Sam's shoulder. "I thought you were a fan of Asia or something."

"I'm gonna level with ya here, Deano." Gabriel raised his hands. He adopted a patient, amused expression, as if explaining the concept of dark matter to a five year old. "I put that song on the radio because one: it's something you'd listen to, and because two? It would annoy Sam. Also it's got some pretty relevant lyrics." He crossed his arms behind his head and propped his feet up on the back of the bench seat. He tapped his toe lightly on the back of Sam's neck until Sam leaned forward with a grumble. "Right, Sammy?"

Sam glowered at him over his shoulder. "What are you even talking about?"

Gabe gave an exasperated sigh. "C'mon! Are you really as dumb as you look?" He rolled his eyes. "'I never meant to be so bad to you.'" He smirked. "'A look from you and I would fall from grace'? This song _screams_ you and me, me and you... Catch my drift?"

"You're kidding." Dean pressed the accelerator and his Baby's engine grumbled. "Please tell me this is a joke and you're not really hitting on my brother right now. _Please_."

Gabriel laughed. "Oh _Dean_ , you sweet, young thing."

Dean pulled a disgusted face.

Sam rolled his eyes in the passenger seat.

...

Gabriel sat in the stiff wooden chair with his head thrown back, slumped down, legs splayed out wide. The ultimate picture of boredom. His eyes were closed against the harsh lighting of the library.

He was asleep, actually, with a book slipping down his leg.

Beside him, Sam muffled a cough into his sleeve before reaching over to snatch the book from his leg before setting it on the table. He smiled softly. Marked something down on his papers, and grabbed a different book.

Across the library Castiel flipped through magazines. Dean stood next to him, silent and watchful, occasionally trying to start up a whispered conversation. Each time though, Cas only met his eyes and remained wordless.

Back at the bunker, Kevin and Crowley had struck up an uneasy alliance. They moved around each other carefully, like orbiting planets. Only snapped at each other once or twice.

Maybe nothing was particularly perfect... But it was better than anyone really expected.

Sam was slowly healing. Gabriel had found a home again. (Sort of.) Crowley was slightly less of a douchebag. Kevin was... well. He was alright.

And maybe Castiel couldn't find the words he needed at that moment, but Dean held out the hope that one day he would look up from a book and instead of a gentle shake of his head, would speak. Would talk to Dean about what ran through his mind. And Dean would be there to listen.

...

"You really were flirting, weren't you?"

Gabriel kicked at a pebble beneath his shoe and shrugged. He avoided Sam's eyes.

Sam smiled. "You're an idiot."

Gabe looked up. "Who, me?" He frowned.

Sam nodded, and held out his hand. Gabriel took it, and Sam pulled him close so their bodies pressed together. He wrapped his arms around Gabriel's shoulders. He sighed. Gabriel relaxed against him.

"I guess I am an idiot, huh?"

In response, Sam pulled back a little, hooked his fingers under Gabriel's chin to tilt his head back, and kissed him.

Gabriel closed his eyes.

In the distance he heard the sound of a pigeon cooing to itself.


End file.
